


You Have To Kiss Me

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Darkish Themes, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Horny!Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Tension, but the darkish themes aren't really main points, oblivious!John, smut to come, the main point is johnlock kissing amarite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John and Sherlock have to kiss during a rather dark case. (2-shot story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have To Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: mentions of a couple of drugs, human trafficking and prostitution. I'm sure some of those things could be triggering so be cautious if you're sensitive dearies.

Darkness settles over London rather quickly during the late months of autumn. Daylight saving time is yet to begin, so it’s no real surprise that it’s already as black as midnight at just seven o’clock in the evening. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are currently sat in a cab; John allows himself to enjoy the warmth of the vehicle as they sit in companionable silence. He’ll certainly be wishing for this later on, as soon they will both be venturing out in to the outskirts of London. A member of the homeless network contacted Sherlock around half an hour after John got back from the surgery. ‘ _There’s news on that Moriarty bloke’_ he’d said: voice tinny due to the crappy loudspeaker on Sherlock’s phone. Apparently there’s going to be a transaction of some sort; after Sherlock received the address of the meeting he’d completely abandoned the experiment at hand ( _not_ something that he does very often!) and raced for his coat; eyes sparkling with that dangerous excitement that John is, unfortunately, equally as addicted to.

So here they are; staring out at the blur of orange streetlamps and darkened buildings as they close in on their destination. Sherlock stops the cabbie around five streets off, quickly hands him what looks to be a fifty-pound note and then – rather gracefully, John notes – sweeps out of the cab and closes the door after John clambers out. Once the bright lights of the black car disappear around a corner, John turns his attention to the Consulting Detective.

“Why’ve we stopped here?”

“Rather stupid question,” Sherlock murmurs.

“Not really,” John huffs, “We’re, what…” John checks his phone, “ _Ten_ streets away!”

Sherlock, who was attempting to search his mind palace for his map of the area, opens his eyes and sighs dramatically.

“ _John_ , if we were to stop any closer to that address we’d quite possibly be shot or stabbed instantly. Every sort of dark, dirty crime goes on in this area – things that’d give most people nightmares at night. Unless you wanted to risk being murdered--?”

“Alright,” John says curtly; he hates it when Sherlock talks down to him, “You’ve made your point.”

So, instead of complaining, John stuffs his hands in to his pockets and begins taking in their surroundings. The buildings are all somewhat smaller than the centre’s; the bricks are decaying, too, and the mixed, strong scent of damp, vomit, alcohol and Weed starts to make his eyes water as Sherlock slowly begins walking towards a small alleyway. It’s much darker through there; full black bin bags add rotting food to the mixture of aromas, making John’s stomach churn.

“I thought you would be acclimated to bad smells,” Sherlock murmurs; John notices the corner of his lips has pulled up in to a teasing smirk.

“Most people were,” John replies, referencing the many soldiers who fought at his side in the war, “But for some stupid reason I just couldn’t cope with it. Still can't.”

“Well, it’s not going to get any better; this area’s not known for its pristine qualities.”

“I can _see_ that.”

They continue on, stepping over all sorts of vile objects as they twist and turn through the narrow alleys. As the lighting begins to get brighter they become cautious; walking slowly, listening out for anyone discussing whatever Moriarty has planned. If they're recognized then they're done for. As they turn yet another narrow, sharp corner, Sherlock comes to a sudden halt. John looks to him in confusion before following his line of sight— _oh_.

On the ground sits an empty, water-clogged plastic bag. Besides it is a snapped syringe, covered in dirt. John doesn’t say anything; he just places his hand in the middle of his friends back and pushes him on.   _So that’s why he’s so knowledgeable on the area_ , John thinks to himself. Of course it is. He was stupid to not even consider it from the beginning. He is suddenly _very_ glad that he’s here. He’ll always be here. He’ll never let Sherlock sink in to the depths of the low-lives who habituate this area again.

“It’s around this corner,” Sherlock murmurs, breaking John from his thoughts. The Detective has his back pressed against the dank wall, “It’s a prostitution business. I think he’s involved himself in a spot of human trafficking.”

“Wait, Sherlock. What’s our plan? Because not too long ago you were telling me if we stepped out of a cab here we’d be shot and now we’re just going to, what? Walk unarmed in to the centre of this place?”

“Not unarmed,” He says, tugging John’s gun out of his coat pocket with a grin. John takes the weapon and places it in to his jeans for safekeeping.

“There’s still more of them than there is us.”

“Don’t concern yourself, I do have a plan. Really, John, what do you take me for?”

Sherlock takes John’s arm in his hand and peers his dark head of hair around the wall; inspecting the scene. When he’s happy with what he sees he turns unreadable eyes to John.

“Don’t fight it; if you fight we’ll be caught.”

Before John can ask what the bloody hell he's talking about; Sherlock wrenches his arm with a force he never believed the man capable of and, once they’re around the corner, forces himself back against the wall. John, who is slightly disorientated from the ordeal, keeps Sherlock’s words in mind as the taller man grabs the front of John’s jacket and pulls him closer.

“You have to kiss me,” He whispers. John blinks in surprise and then turns to look around them… Oh; there’s couples here. Not many, but they all have tongues down one another’s throats and are standing so close to each other that the Doctor questions whether or not they're snogging heatedly or shagging, “Whoever shows up wouldn’t expect it. He - or she - won’t notice us, and from here I can still see what’s going on. We have to blend in, John.”

John is so infuriated by this that he can feel his hands shaking; God, how he’d love to smack this prick right now. But what other choice does he have? If he does that they’ll most likely die. Sherlock literally planned this out to a T, didn’t he? Only telling John about his plan at a point where neither of them can turn back. With a frustrated, defeated growl of annoyance he hooks his hand under Sherlock’s scarf and pulls him down to a kiss.

Sherlock’s lips are different to a womens. Obviously. They are soft, but due to lack of experience they're unusually still against his own; to make it less awkward John’s closes his eyes and forces himself to remain in place. Kissing Sherlock is just downright  _weird_  - they have been friends for so long now, and John's _not_ gay. God, if the papers could get a snap of this people would  _definitely_  think otherwise.

“Not very _convincing_ ,” Sherlock snaps. The fact that the words are muffled because his lips are currently on John’s sends a crashing wave of anger through the ex-Army Doctor. What did he expect? A fucking _A-star passionate snog?_ His frustration drowns out the awkwardness as he thinks:  _Fine, you want convincing. I’ll give you convincing!_

John pushes Sherlock closer against the wall and immediately begins massaging his lips against his as he unbuttons that obnoxious Belstaff coat. The Detective, however, becomes still as he immediately loses his track of thought. John’s unbuttoning his coat, and now his cool hands are clutching on to his waist, sending goosebumps over his skin. His gasp at the sudden cold is something John quickly takes advantage of – his tongue is in his mouth, tracing each crevice; John can taste tobacco – a tell-tale sign that Sherlock’s being smoking again – and something slightly spicy that he can’t actually put a name on. Sherlock Holmes is pressed against him, _kissing him_ , and John is immensely confused as to what his emotions are doing. He feels lightheaded, and his hands are now fisted in the back of his purple shirt, drawing Sherlock closer as he begins intertwining his tongue with his own.

When John removes his lips from Sherlock’s and brings them lower, muttering a quick, “You’ll see more if I’m down here,” Sherlock’s face flushes a deep red that _thankfully_ cannot be seen; John meant his neck. Of course he meant his neck. Where else did Sherlock _think_ he meant? The taller man stares across at the building they’re here for, waiting for any sign or Moriarty or his possible employee(s). Yes, that’s what he’s here for. Moriarty. They need to stop—

“ _Oh!_ ” Sherlock gasps as John’s lips fall to a rather sensitive part of his collar bone. John, who is slightly surprised that Sherlock has actually been somehow _physically_  affected by this, becomes curious. He immediately locks himself on that area as he flushes his body closer to his flatmates. There’s no such thing as gentle as he nips and sucks the spot, causing Sherlock’s eyes to flutter shut as he throws his head back, not caring about the shot of pain that spikes through him as his skull connects with the bricks. He feels positively _mortified_ as he begins hardening, and John’s so close that he will clearly be able to feel it! Since when did Sherlock Holmes manage to lose control of his basic instincts?

“ _Convincing_ enough for you?” John asks - _there is a husky edge to his voice that shows the beginning stages of arousal_ – pressing his hip against the obvious erection in Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock thinks it was supposed to be painful - to punish him for putting him in this situation - but that only heightens the Detective's arousal as he feels himself starting to throb. He grinds his teeth together as John’s eyes darken. “ _God_ , Sherlock. I’m going to kill you--”

The squealing of wheels gathers the attention of everyone as a van suddenly darts away from the building across. Sherlock curses as he recognizes the driver.

Sebastian Moran.

He doesn't know who he's most infuriated at: John or himself.


End file.
